My Target, where I recently cranked out a stupendous amount of writing, and where I can go when I really need for something to happen, is not giving me good coffee. It’s Starbucks, so it isn’t exceeding special, but it is peculiarly worse now, two times running. What could it be? I’ve switched from Dark to Pike, and its coming out all the same.
I could be drinking too much coffee. I do that. But then, that’s nothing new.
What is new is that I’ve been switching providers. I have a good source but I find it goes better if I keep that steady source and then supplement it with others. So I got a pound in NYC (where coffee is cheaper) and then my regular place. Then 8 oz in Princeton (where coffee and everything is more expensive in that upscale, precious little place) and then my regular. Then I got some in Lancaster at the market, while also alternating with the regular. This has increased the quality of enjoyment. Has it therefore brought me to new heights such that Starbucks no longer serves?
It is a quandary. Once upon a time I could be grateful for coffee anywhere. Regardless how bad it was, I added milk and possibly sugar and thus drank it. But those days have not been with me in ages. I dropped additives so long ago that the only reason I even thought of them now was this exploring of my peculiar situation. Perhaps the solution is to engage in additives. When I consider this, however, I find that the heart seems to have reasons of which my reason is not aware.
It could be they’re not cleaning things the way they should. Target’s café is never of the cleanest. There is no one tasked with regularly cleaning the space, it seems, since the employees running the food are the ones with the least leisure in the whole place. I’m sure they’re expected to do it when things are slack, but I do not find they have such moments. The backs of chairs, especially, are touched with popcorn and pizza fingers and attract flies, and from time to time the plague grows strong, then someone notices, then it diminishes. I have been in Targets regularly where the tables are never regularly wiped off except by customers with napkins. I do not mind this. If you grow up in the third world you aren’t too fastidious, knowing you’ve survived far worse. I would like the things they cook and brew with cleaned and serviced with more regularity. But they probably are.
It may be my cold. It’s been a week, exactly the times I come back. It may be what is causing the disturbance in my peace. I get more respiratory stuff here in Philadelphia. I wonder if it is part of settling in to a new place, or a new development of advanced age.
Oh well. There will be times when I enjoy it more and times when I enjoy it less. The great thing is to get some work done, which admittedly this is not.